


Saline and Solutions

by goddity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, medical fetish, medical treatment, self-care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddity/pseuds/goddity
Summary: Rung and Ratchet are both guilty of neglecting their self-care.





	1. Non-Standard Prescription

**Author's Note:**

  * For [d0nkarnage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0nkarnage/gifts).



When his chronometer alerted him that the session was up, Rung very politely reminded Tailgate to schedule his next session, and sent him with a few rust sticks before he left. It was always difficult to move a client out when he felt they were making progress, but Rung needed all the time he could get. 

The time that he needed was specifically a forty-five minute session he had scheduled to recharge. Having his door open for patients all hours of the night made it difficult to get a proper recharge cycle, so the next best thing was planning shorter rests throughout his day that would last the length of a session. It put stress on every part he had, but it was worth a little physical stress to relieve the mental stress of his crewmates. He kept a small recharge pack, something he'd picked up centuries ago, under the desk he kept in his office. It wasn't worth going back to his habsuite if someone had an emergency; they all knew that they could him in his office, there wasn't much reason to make them look elsewhere. 

He groaned softly as he took his seat, every joint groaning in protest. Realistically, Rung knew that he should have headed to the medibay cycles ago but it was difficult to find time to slip away. It was hard enough to find time to rest, medical care was a different beast entirely. Gently sliding a side panel open, Rung connected a few wires and offlined his optics, thankful a little reprieve before he entered statis. 

Rung loved helping people. He wouldn't have made a career of it otherwise, or at least would have gone into theoretical work instead of active practice. There was a pleasure and joy he found in helping his patients, from helping them overcome issues to helping them get medications they might need. He'd been a bit frugal with prescriptions since they left Cybertron, knowing medication could become few and far between if he wasn't wise and entirely positive of a patient's need for it. Of course, there was also the process of helping clients understand that taking medication was a valid method of coping and growth. Even with the war over, the stigma around mental health was still very present, even far from home. It wasn't the way that he preferred to conduct his practice, but sacrifices, unfortunately, had to be made. One sacrifice entailed patients undergoing both an evaluation from himself and from Ratchet before any approval was given for prescriptions; ensure that candidates didn't risk having too many negative side effects and had to switch medications, only further dwindling a mediocre stash. That wasn't to say he didn't keep a small stash in his subspace in case of real emergencies but... 

As badly as he wanted to enter stasis, it seemed like there was always a handful of thoughts in his way that prevented it until his time was almost up. He was certainly tired, there was no questioning that, he _needed_ the charge, but it never came. Usually, it was thoughts anyway. Sometimes it was the dull ache that had been eating away at his spinal struts since Vos fell, but it wasn't all that long ago, and eventually it would fix itself. At least that's what he told himself.

The ache was never bad enough to ask Ratchet or First Aid to waste their time. There were plenty of other patients who needed care more urgently. Sometimes, Rung thought back on Ratchet repairing his arm, impressed by his own upkeep. He wished he had been able to keep up with it after boarding, but it was near impossible with how many people he was responsible for now. Back on Cybertron he'd had a much smaller practice, the sort that went unnoticed on busy streets with so many other options. He had never minded having a small practice, it had never felt like a bad thing. However, to go from maybe a hundred clients or so a month to over two hundred, at all hours of the day, whenever they needed treatment... It was fulfilling, while exhausting. 

Processes were starting to offling and prompt a recharge stasis; audial, olfactory, EM field.... Slowly the world became a soft and gentle hum, and Rung was in recharge.

It was atypical of Rung to dream during stasis; usually, his cycles were so short that the secondary processes that prompted dreaming didn't have time to initiate. This time was no exception, which always left Rung feeling a tad unfulfilled when he woke. He felt groggy and his vision was blurred at the edges as his optics came back online, processing the view of his desk. A monitor, a small datapad, a nice silver container of rust sticks, a small bowl of energon candies.... Something seemed like it was missing. Rung looked over his models, finding all of them in place; all of his datapads remained unmoved, right where he'd left them; nothing, truthfully seemed out of place. 

One look at his chronometer told him the issue. Rung had been in stasis a few minutes too long, a total of fifty-five minutes instead of forty-five, but found he wasn't the only one late for a session. It appeared that Ratchet was also late to their appointment, as he usually was. The Chief Medical Officer had a tendency to avoid any kind of medical treatment himself, seemingly for similar reasons as Rung - there was too much to be done, and no time to stop for a little help. Despite that Rung, naturally, disagreed. Ratchet was an old mech, a mech who had been active during the war, a mech with things he needed to talk about and wouldn't. Rung didn't like the idea of coercing him into appointments or making him feel as though he had no choice but to talk to someone, but he was certain it would help. Most of the mechs on board were aware of Ratchet's post-traumatic stress disorder and how it had an influence on his work. A little help could go a long way, if he would simply take it. 

Rung stretched, letting his systems work their way up to their usual functions before opening his commlink and sending a message to Ratchet. He always did his best to avoid sounding too forceful; even being friends, Rung still had to be professional and do his best to make his clients feel comfortable. Even a client as stubborn as Ratchet. 

_[[Ratchet,]]_ Rung knew he didn't have reason to clarify who he was. _[[I apologize for my lack of punctuality, but you had an appointment that was scheduled for a few minutes ago. It seems I'd slipped into recharge, and time got away from me-]]_

A soft ping of Ratchet's responses coming through.

_[Can't leave.]_

Ratchet didn't need to say much more for Rung to understand that he was up to his chassis in work. Despite that he insisted that First Aid was qualified, and that most every mech on board knew that First Aid had to be if Ratchet wanted him as a successor, Ratchet tended to not actually leave him alone in the medibay. 

Rung figured if Ratchet wasn't going to come and try to get treatment, maybe he could use the opportunity to go to the medibay and get himself some instead. 

_[[If you're not terribly busy,]]_ If asked, Ratchet was always terribly busy. _[[Would you mind taking a look at my spinal struts? I've been experiencing some stiffness and now seems as good a time as any.]]_

_[Always time to do my job.]_

With a thankful smile, Rung helped himself out of the chair, joints once again squealing in protest. He helped himself to a small energon candy from his desk before slipping out into the hall and making his way towards the medibay. There was the soft hum of conversations from behind closed doors and from corridors that were still ways off. The hallways of the ship always seemed infinite and alien when compared to the warm, compact space of his office. A singular wrong turn and he could end up not knowing where he was - which, of course, was simply rectified by pulling up a schematic of the ship on a holopad, which may have been the reason that he kept one in his subspace. So many doors looked the same, so few crewmates had bothered to keep the name plates on their door, so few of them had concerns about seeing Rung wandering absently through the hallways. Despite having a great memory, and remembering more than most over the years, Rung had been finding it challenging to remember his way around the ship if he got turned around. If he'd had to attribute it to anything, it was likely the consistent lack of decent recharge and his perpetual alone time with only one mech at a time. Seeing more than two mechs at a time was a little disorientating if he wasn't at Swerve's, which it felt he hardly ever was anymore. 

Rung didn't actually realize he wasn't heading towards the medibay until he realized that he was instinctively headed to Swerve's. He flushed, a bit embarrassed but thankful to have gone unnoticed, turning and moving back down the hall to make the proper turn. It seemed that he would unfortunately be a little later than intended. 

He toyed with the idea of comming Ratchet to alert him of his delay, but reasoned that Ratchet would have only been upset by the second interruption. 

Ratchet was, however, unfazed by Rung's lack of punctuality, instead having his servos full with a Swerve who had _somehow_ gotten his hand stuck in a glass and hadn't thought to break the glass to free himself. Ratchet, it would seem, had lost his temper while Swerve remained positively bemused, either hoping to invoke this reaction or stunned at his own foolishness. Instinctively, Rung wanted to make an effort to get between the tension and help Ratchet calm down, but he reminded himself that he was here to see Ratchet. The medibay was the medic's turf, and while Swerve would have benefited from the support, Rung knew that the conversation wasn't going to be pleasant regardless. It was best to lay low and... well, wait his turn. 

Rung took a small seat close to the door, waving politely to a very uncomfortable and quickly approaching First Aid.

"Rung," The medic tried to sound surprised instead of exhausted. "If you could do me the favor of filling out this form while you wait, it'll make everyone's job a bit easier once we're able to see you."

Rung politely took the holopad. "I know you're not going to like hearing this, but I'm here to see-"

"I'm _just_ as qualified as Ratchet, Rung."

"Oh! No, please don't misunderstand." Rung hastily waved a hand, knowing that First Aid had trouble with the crew despite earning his title. "Ratchet was late for a session, but agreed to speak with me if I came here. I have no doubts of your qualifications, First Aid. Ratchet trusts you. Everyone on this ship should."

The small medic visibly relaxed, a smile playing off his vocalizer. 

"Uh, thanks. Sorry to go off. You know how it is. Ratchet should be done... uh..." He shot a glance over at the CMO. "He should be done eventually."

Rung smiled, thanking First Aid before going over the form, filling in his symptoms and some additional medical details. Ratchet eventually opted to forcibly pushing Swerve out of the medibay, leaving a bit of broken glass on the examination table in his wake. After a few minutes of grumbling and cleaning, Ratchet was less than content but content to give Rung his undivided attention.

"Good afternoon, Ratchet." Rung beamed, handing the doctor his holopad and watching him read it over. He had to admit that he had a certain admiration for how quickly Ratchet was capable of absorbing most information when it came to his work.

"Back pains?" Ratchet stood up, crossing to the examination table that had previously been occupied by Swerve and broken glass and giving it a firm pat in invitation. Rung did his best to hide a grimace as he stood, finding that maybe the ache had been worse than he thought. To his relief, he squeaked and squealed a little less as he made his way to the table, easily sliding up with apparently having been set to accommodate his height. 

"Go ahead and lie down, I'll take a look at your spinal struts and see what kind of issues we're dealing with." 

Rung obeyed, resting his head on the small pillow at the head of the table. He dimmed his optics, letting his processor flood with the scent of saline and cleansing fluids, and the faint scent of energon underneath it all. While Rung had spent very little time in medical facilities in his time, he'd never had it be an unpleasant experience - even with bedside manner as inappropriate as Ratchet's. It was nice, he had to admit, to occasionally have a mech’s undivided attention. 

Ratchet's hands were quick and diligent, more skilled than even rumors would imply, easily moving from strut to strut and inquisitively looking for any inflammation or displacement. Typically, Rung would have scolded himself for relaxing so unprofessionally, but a little part of him reminded himself that he was here for treatment, after all. Relaxing meant it was working, that he felt safe and comfortable. Ratchet would probably benefit from being told he made people feel that way, he thought.

"Ratchet," Rung flushed, realizing his vocalizer would benefit from a reset before he said anything else. A little _too_ relaxed it would seem. "I know my experience as a patient is minimal, but you really do exceed your reputation."

Under most circumstances, Ratchet shrugged off flattery as an attempt to get better treatment or to get some better bedside manner or medication. Rung, however, was an unusually authentic mech. While he passed around compliments like they were energon candies, they were always genuine. The only thing more scarce than a genuine mech was a mech who did their job, and Rung was both. Ratchet had respect for that.

"If I wasn't good at my job, they wouldn't let me keep it." Ratchet mumbled, skilled servos working over several struts. "It looks like it's long term physical stress. Wear and tear and _lack of upkeep._ " The words stung more to say than to hear. Ratchet knew that Rung was capable of taking care of himself, he remembered replacing Rung's arm, remembered how there was hardly even a scratch in his paint, how the window showcasing his spark didn't hold a single speck of dust...

Rung bit his lip, knowing that his negligence was certain to come up. It wasn't as though he was going to deny it, or that Ratchet would believe him with the medical knowledge he had. Too many patients, too little time, too few resources. Rung also knew that Ratchet would be painfully empathetic of why Rung had been neglecting his self-care... But empathy didn't always equate to any particular brand of kindness.

"In truth, Ratchet, lack of upkeep is part of the reason we agreed to meet like this."

Ratchet begrudgingly kept his pace, smugly satisfied to feel the smaller mech relax beneath his servos. It was nice to get to work with new patients, even if it was under less-than-ideal situations. There was a certain thrill in working with new patients; new bodies, new details, and more often than not, more work that needed to be done. While more work was generally viewed as a negative thing, Ratchet found himself most at peace when he was in his element. No place in his experience was more his element than an examination table; except, perhaps, an operation table. Rung's form, albeit in mostly good shape, had enough maintenance that Ratchet could keep him busy enough for at least a few cycles. A few joints here could use replacing, a few lines there needed better patches, paint needed retouching in a few places and Rung seemed like he would benefit from detailing and the work kept Ratchet's new hands busy. In the past, more work had kept his hands busy and made the seizing up a little less frequent and it had become rough to ditch the habit. Nowadays, it kept his hands busy and kept him from worrying about other things. Things that, in truth, he should talk to Rung about.

Rung, however, was perfectly content letting Ratchet make a habit out of similar examinations. Attention for himself, attention for Ratchet; the old mech could surely benefit from someone to talk to. 

"And I imagine... to a certain extent, it's the same reason I haven't been seeing you." 

Ratchet only grumbled in response, with the usual flair that he gave to questions that he didn't feel like entertaining. It was difficult to make progress when a patient didn’t want to, but Rung had been through the solar cycle enough times to know how to work with someone difficult. Shortly after trying to prompt him, he tried again.

"Unless there's something you don't want to talk about." Rung always tread carefully when working with his clients, especially early on. Some patients, like Rodimus, had a tendency to need to hear things they didn't like, but mechs like Ratchet usually needed more finesse. A tip of the proverbial hat, the planted seed that helped them start with their own ideas, instead of trying to tell Rung what they thought he’d view as most important. "Which is perfectly fine, I respect your wishes for privacy. We don't have to discuss anything you don't wish to discuss. You're not obligated to talk about things if you don't want to."

Giving patients the option to keep secrets had almost always been a benefit. If Rung didn't pry, they could take their time adjusting until they felt ready to share on their own. While many in his profession were a bit more assertive in getting information, there was no rush to open doors clients wanted to keep locked. If they were pushed into talking, they'd end up keeping more secrets or end up lying. Sometimes they lied anyway. While Rung was very used to clients who tended to avoid the truth, it made it difficult to make progress or give any real kind of treatment. Honesty was the way to get things done; he knew that Ratchet knew that too. Lying to a medic had real life consequences; medication issues, misdiagnosis, and sometimes in Ratchet’s case, refusal for treatment. He had heard rumors that he gave the patients who wouldn’t work with him to First Aid. 

"Nothing to talk about." Ratchet murmured, sending a sharp shudder through Rung as he realigned a spinal strut. Rung involuntarily tightened his servos over the small cushion he'd been resting his head on, averting his attention to something other than Ratchet's undeniable skill.

Unfortunately, what he happened to notice was First Aid, happily working and minding his own business. First Aid wasn't typically an unfortunate sight or even a negative person, but First Aid being present meant one very, very important thing: Ratchet had no intention of talking to Rung today. By keeping First Aid present, by keeping Rung in the medibay, Ratchet assured himself a lack of privacy that he knew Rung wouldn't dare breech; conveniently barring Ratchet from speaking about personal matters, and giving Rung enough cause not to bring them up. If it hadn't been so brilliant, Rung would have been furious. Well, maybe not furious, but certainly more frustrated. Ratchet was an incredibly intelligent mech, there was no debate surrounding that, and one of few who held Rung in some kind of regard; Rung considered it as some sort of courtesy between doctors, regardless that they dealt with two different sorts of health. 

Rung understood Ratchet didn't want to talk. He valued his work over his own health.... Rung could relate. This check-up could have been their first step into his office. They couldn’t make any progress together so long as one of them was trying to hold the other back - be it Rung’s reluctance to work on his physical health, or Ratchet’s to work on his mental. However, Rung sat on an examination table and was clearly making an effort at progress. And, so long as Ratchet kept his hands moving, Rung didn't know that he could complain very much at all. At least he wouldn't have if it hadn't been for the sudden and sharp pain that replaced the released tension from the repositioned strut.

"Ah-!" Rung ducked his head against the pillow, shoulders up and back. He knew enough to know that sometimes even healing hurt. That appeared to be universal in their professions. 

Ratchet grumbled what Rung was fairly certain was an apology, opting to surprisingly open his commlink for a private conversation. 

_[There's a lot of damage to your spinal column.]_ Ratchet was subdued and masking what Rung was fairly certain was fury. _[You've got chips in some, cracks in others, and frankly the fact that you've been walking around with this kind of damage shows that you shouldn't have been walking around at all.]_

Rung went to start, but Ratchet wasn't done.

_[I had thought that I caught most of these details after Swerve, but it slipped past me. A lot of this slipped past me. You've got all these tiny nicks and problems that add up to enough damage to warrant uninterrupted work for... slag, weeks?]_

Rung was actually thankful that his commlink was closed as he privately rejoiced in the amount of time that he could spend in the medibay. 

_[[I appreciate the helping hand.]]_ Rung wasn’t entirely sure how else to respond. Ratchet had just as many patients as himself, more in fact due to the social stigma that came with mental health treatment. The fact that Ratchet would take time out of his day, that he would take _several_ solar cycles, that he would be giving all that attention to Rung… 

He dismissed the HUD warning that suggested he turn on his fans. 

Ratchet sighed, a hand sliding over the side of his helm in contemplation. With Rung needing as much work as he did, there were only two viable options and neither of them were exceptionally good. The first, worst, option, was a pseudo-quarantine. Rung would just be kept away from work and Ratchet would be able to spend his off shifts working on repairs and during his work, First Aid could work on some of them. The repairs were gratuitous but mostly routine and definitely within First Aid’s capabilities, _most_ of the work that needed to be done were within First Aid’s capabilities, despite what mechs onboard seemed to believe. 

However, there was a certain benefit to putting time aside and working on Rung. Regardless of how much he hated the idea of having to take time away from other patients and get treatment himself, he could… consider talking to Rung about a few issues. Little issues, naturally. Nothing dramatic. It would also be a fantastic opportunity to give First Aid some real responsibilities and see how he fared in the field. It also took away the opportunity for patients to specifically request Ratchet’s touch. Gave him a chance to not have to worry about every mech onboard, if only for a little while. He would hardly find the time to worry about anything if he was spending all his time fretting over Rung. The little mech could probably stand to have someone fret over him every once and a while. 

And while Ratchet _didn’t_ want to discuss it, he did feel a certain amount of responsibility to take care of what was realistically his own unfinished business. 

_[Here’s my suggestion.]_ Ratchet picked up a cloth from his small table of tools, wiping his hands. _[You’re going to have to come in, repeatedly, for treatment. It’s unthinkable to make these repairs in one sitting. So we’re going to assemble a schedule for you to come in here and get this taken care of.]_

Thankfully, the sharp surge of light from his spark was swallowed by the examination table.

_[[I’m afraid I’m unable to take much time away from my clients. Only a very short bit a time, forty-five minutes at best.]]_

Ratchet grumbled audibly, despite continuing via the link. _[Fine, forty-five minutes at a time.]_

_[[And I hate to press, but it_ will _have to be private to ensure I can give you treatment as well…]]_

Another groan from Ratchet, but a nodded and a severed link.

“ _Fine,_ fine.” He threw the cloth into a small trash bin, waving over his shoulder. “I’ll grab a datapad, we’ll work out something. These repairs need to get done.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Rung turned his helm to the side so he could better face the medic. “I can’t thank you enough for being so accommodating, given the circumstances.”

“Your survival means something, Rung.” 

If he hadn’t known better, he would have almost said Ratchet was smiling when he walked away. Rung sat up with a smaller wince than he previously had, feeling the sharp crackle of a charge dancing under his plates.


	2. Procedural Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't going to finish this at 4am, but here i am

Rung was typically a very patient mech who had few troubles taking his time or waiting. However, he was finding it difficult, for once, to contain his excitement surrounding his repeated visits to the medibay. Granted, he shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic, given the circumstances, but there was an appeal to the medibay that most other mechs didn’t entirely understand. The medibay was clean, safe, filled with mechs who were prepared to listen and solve his problems, treat his issues as seriously as any other’s… 

 

During the war, Rung had remarkably stayed out of the way. So much so, that he had his original frame, mostly. While some mechs had been in and out of medibays during the war, Rung had experienced very few medical examinations. A few dings here, a few dents there, but nothing that ever required immediate attention - or, at least, nothing that _he_ felt warranted immediate attention. In retrospect he supposed it was why he had let himself fall into such disrepair, but with the benefits he was finding now…

 

He was feeling better, that’s what mattered - wasn’t it? It might have been hard to overcome the swelling emotions that implied that he did it on _purpose_ , that he was trying to take Ratchet away from patients that needed him more - which was simply untrue - and that Rung had let it get so bad that he needed constant care, but he managed. Well, he managed well enough that he could ignore such thoughts as he put one pede in front of the other and made his way to the medibay for another session.

 

Ratchet, however, was still not making progress. The medic gave Rung his customary greetings, asked if his condition improved or worsened, then promptly got to work and hardly said anything after that, apart from the occasional aside to First Aid asking for a tool. Despite his best efforts, his doctor never seemed to want to talk about anything; not the war, not his work, not their arrangement, nothing. Every silent meeting left Rung feeling more and more concerned: if Ratchet thought this work would keep him busy for so long, but made no progress himself, how was Rung to treat him? He refused to leave the medibay and get treatment for himself and when Rung _was_ in the medibay, First Aid was generally around which gave Ratchet the safety net of not being able to speak in confidence. Worse still, Rung couldn’t ask First Aid to leave. The fact aside that the medibay was First Aid’s post and not his own, without him there to fill the work that Ratchet was unable to finish when focused on Rung, there wouldn’t have been a doctor on duty in an emergency. 

 

Not that Rung thought he took precedent over any emergency that might rear it’s helm. 

 

The door slid aside as he arrived in the medibay, as punctual as he could be, time already ticking past for their forty-five minute allotted meetings. Rung was a bit remorseful that it cut a recharge cycle out of his day, which left him feeling a bit more tired than usual, but Ratchet’s work was work a little sleep loss. He couldn’t exactly _tell_ Ratchet something like that, but he felt that his consistent enthusiasm and gratitude might have expressed it well enough. 

 

Rung took his seat on an examination table that Ratchet had assigned him too. During their early planning phases, Ratchet was determined to build them an efficient system to waste as little time as possible. With only forty-five minutes to work with and several of them getting eaten in travel time, not a single second could be wasted once Rung reached the medibay. He didn’t want to complain or seem ungrateful, given what Ratchet was putting aside to help him, but those lost minutes or recharge were taking a toll already. 

 

A little lack of rest was worth this though, he reminded himself. 

 

He pressed his palm against the bridge of his glasses before a sharp snort form Ratchet toppled him back into reality.

 

“A little later today than usual.” Ratchet remarked. Rung couldn’t argue; he’d been a little disoriented and ran into Swerve on his way to the medibay.

 

“Hm? Yes, I ran into Swerve.” He explained, thankful that Ratchet gave him something to focus on. “He was expressing some concerns about not seeing you around the bar. Apparently you used to frequent there in the mornings, when you knew that First Aid wouldn’t have his hands too full…”

 

Ratchet, always a bit too firm, pressed Rung to the examination table, Rung as complacent as ever to stay put and let the medic work.

 

“You should consider sending him a comm, just to assure him that you’re alright.”

 

“Swerve knows I’m fine.” Ratchet argued, a smile playing in his voice. “If I weren’t, the crew would have fallen apart by now. Partially because it’d be too many mechs for one medic to handle, and half the ones in need of treatment would still insist on seeing me.”

 

Rung shifted, quickly enough that he knew Ratchet wouldn’t protest, sliding his servos under the small pillow that supported his helm. A few thoughts had been persisting, despite their blatant lack of professionalism. 

 

The thoughts always became more aggressive when he found Ratchet’s servos pinching between his struts and sending characters shooting about under his armor. Thankfully, Rung had always been a mech with remarkable self restraint. It, unfortunately, came with the territory after being a doctor for so long; the only people Rung had the chance to speak or connect with were his patients, and any kind of emotional involvement was not only immoral but illegal in his position. He could lose his practice, his license, _ruin_ his reputation… 

 

And he hated that he gave consideration to it anyway. 

 

However, Ratchet _was_ a doctor. Granted, being in each other’s care didn’t make much of a better situation for either of them, it only put more at risk. Ratchet would _understand_ the moral dilemma, the struggle of treating patients that you considered to be friends, the danger but temptation of skirting around forbidden emotions, the indescribable loneliness, the longing… Even if it was something Ratchet wanted, he couldn’t even seek companionship from other medics. With only First Aid, the two fell onto the duty of providing primary care for each other, which forced any sort of emotional relationships between them aside. While Ratchet likely had his pick of mechs given his skills and experience, finding one who trusted his emotional standing enough _and_ trusted First Aid seemed a much harder gamble. 

 

Not to mention that it was difficult to confess that he fell into that category.

 

Harder still was the concept of actually confessing anything of that nature to Ratchet. 

 

Rung tensed when the heat of a soldering tool made contact with a lower strut, immediately offlining his vocalizer in his own defense. Ratchet’s hand was firm, gripping his side to hold him in place as he corrected the position of the strut. If Rung’s memory served, he’d corrected about four since they began the sessions, though he had barely gotten through the first. He had been, admittedly, self conscious about the removal of his wheel when they started, but Ratchet had been kind enough to keep a privacy curtain around them while he worked. The last thing Rung needed was for people to remember they had stopped questioning his alt mode, and have that come up again among everything else. 

 

Among everything else was a proposition he had been prolonging for quite some time. Long enough that he continued to think it was good idea - generally a good sign. The longer he thought about something, Rung was often likely to see flaws in his plans, which made it a decent method of making decisions. Resilient, this idea…. Suggestion, this _thought_ , refused to be abandoned. 

 

“Ratchet?” Rung was thankful his faceplates weren’t visible to Ratchet when the static was so audible. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

 

“Is it this pent up charge you refuse to do anything about?”

 

“Wh-What?!” Rung nearly sat up, only to be deterred by Ratchet’s unrelenting grip.

 

“I’m not oblivious, Rung.” Ratchet’s tone remained unchanged; too professional, too used to unruly and unsavory behavior in his medibay. Rung hoped that perhaps his behaviors weren’t viewed as deliberate. “You’re not the first mech to come into my medibay like this, and it’s absolutely not the strangest thing I’ve seen come through here.” 

 

“I… Excuse me?” Rung could hardly get a sensible thought through his processor, overwhelmed with shame and frustration. 

 

Ratchet sighed, peering over his shoulder to make note of First Aid’s attention to the situation. First Aid, luckily, didn’t be paying much mind to either of the other doctors while he ran some diagnostics on a tired looking Rip Tide. 

 

“Rung, I’ve had mechs come in here with literal _swords_ in their valves, I assure you this is nothing.”

 

“W-What?!” _Swords?!_ Rung had heard some adventurous tales from patients, most mechs were more open about their interfacing than anything else, but that was something he had thankfully never heard of. 

 

“Have you ever had to remove _four_ of Drift’s ‘religious artifacts’ from Rodimus’s valve, Rung?” 

 

“...I…” Rung hadn’t been aware that Drift even _had_ four swords, let alone that a mech would dare to make such a reckless choice. It did pose a few questions that Rung would never truly want the answers too; how did Rodimus make it to the medibay, how did they manage to avoid serious injury, how did four blades….?

 

“Hilts, not the blade. They’re surprisingly smarter than _that_.”

 

“Ratchet, I feel… that as a doctor, you probably shouldn’t have told me that.”

 

“As my doctor, Rung, I’m afraid you had to hear it. And as _your_ doctor, you might not like hearing from me that you’ve got to do something about this charge.”

 

Rung felt his face erupt with heat, not to mention the rest of him. What he _thought_ Ratchet was suggesting - it was unthinkable, it was immoral! They couldn’t simply go running around doing things like that like a pair of newlybuilds! Granted, he took immense pleasure in the concept, but-

 

“Obviously I don’t mean _here_ , but you’re constantly letting these charges build and it’s dangerous. You keep dismissing fan warnings, which build more heat, and you’ve done enough damage that some of your slagging fuel lines are _fused_. I’m literally going to have to sever them, replace the lines, and hope that the patches hold with the limited resources I have until we dock somewhere again.” 

 

Ratchet wasn’t a dull mech. He’d seen his fair share of malingerers, and Rung certainly wasn’t among them. He’d also seen his fair share of mechs who were just looking for excuses to be surrounded by medical equipment and doctors, who apparently Rung did in fact stand among. Less savory, but generally harmless despite how annoying they were in wasting his time. It was rare to run into a mech who got his gears grinding over medical attention and _actually_ needed it. 

 

Though, when he gave it some thought, Ratchet wasn’t entirely surprised that a mech like Rung would get riled up on an examination table. Given that most mechs couldn’t be bothered to remember his name if he wasn’t in the room - or even if he was - it was likely a nice change of pace to have someone doting over him and checking every last inch of his frame. 

 

He wasn’t hoping to encourage that sort of reaction, but usually, all it took was bringing it up to put off a patient from any sort of inappropriate action. Rung wasn’t the sort to act on any of it, Ratchet was fairly certain, but it was better safe than sorry. Even if it was just a little mech like Rung.

 

Rung felt the heat in his faceplates build. Of all the reactions he had expected from arousal - especially an _inappropriate_ one at that, the last reaction he expected from Ratchet was more concern. It didn’t, in truth, help given his interests. He at least had enough sense to kick on his fans instead of dismissing yet another HUD warning.

 

Immediately, Rung could feel his internal temperature dropping. He pulled the pillow close to his face, hoping that Ratchet might have left it at that. Ratchet, however, was a doctor, and doctors never left things at that. 

 

“I get that this isn’t exactly a proud moment for you,” The heat of the soldering tool returned. Rung was less than subtle in letting his fans kick higher. “But it’s an issue. It might not seem like it since more often than not you’re keeping them off out of courtesy, but your body reacts that way for a _reason_. You’re getting too hot, you’re going to overheat, systems are going to fail, and if they don’t go through proper protocols, you end up in situations like this: deteriorating spinal struts, fused fuel lines, and making private medibay visits that are nearly daily. It’s not a good way to have to live, Rung.”

 

Arguing the point didn’t seem wise - for more than professional reasons.

 

“I… You’re right. I shouldn’t, and I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize for it Rung, it’s about you getting treatment and getting better. You’re not doing this to spite me. And if you are, I’ll personally fuse all these fuel lines back together.”

 

Rung hadn’t considered that threats might have made the charge worse. Maybe it wasn’t so much the threat but the knowledge that, if he were a lesser mech, Ratchet could and _would._

 

“That’s…. No, not what I had intended to bring up.” Rung reasoned that a bit of a waiver to his voice was somewhat acceptable given the prefaced conversation. “It was, somewhat unrelated. It’s more about your care, and due to our circumstances of treatment, the lack thereof.”

 

Ratchet grunted in response, the general level of reception Rung anticipated. 

 

“I had been considering, as of late, that it might be wise to generally release you from my care.”

 

Suddenly, surprisingly, Ratchet hesitated. 

 

“Is that so?”

 

“It seems that you have little interest in talking to me as your doctor.” Rung opted to rest his cheek against the pillow as opposed to his chin. “But, it stood to reason that you might be more willing to confide in me as a friend. No formalities, no pressure, no promises of treatment. More casual.

 

“While I realize this would be a problem long term, given that you might change your mind or want to pursue some form of medicinal treatment, which you’re under no pressure to, but I could likely talk to First Aid if I had any concerns. I realize it’s a bit of a risk and there’s not a terrible benefit, but it might be less stressful for you.”

 

“You think I’m stressed?” The tone in Ratchet’s voice implied he wasn’t surprised.

 

_Stressed_ was the understatement of the century. Ratchet had his fair share of the normal stresses that came with being a doctor; making certain that patients received the proper treatment, being sure that those who were prescribed medications took them and followed up, keeping reckless and intoxicated mechs in line, and the incessant arguing that he didn’t _have_ to be the one to treat someone. Rung had been fortunate enough to understand that Ratchet’s failing hands hadn’t slowed him down, but a hammer to the servo had been all it took to make Rung feel he hadn’t wanted to be around.

 

A hammer to the servo had been a reminder that Ratchet didn’t have another six centuries to work as a medic, he’d be lucky with another two or three, and would have had even less without commondered hands. If the crew could trust First Aid like he did, most of them would stop worrying about if they’d be the one Ratchet gave out on. 

 

“Ratchet, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t.” He would have sat up, but given his previous attempt, staying down seemed the better option. And, Rung didn’t much mind. “But I know a lot of mechs have trouble talking to doctors. Not many have positive experiences. I could never resent a mech for that. I can’t speak for you, but if it makes things easier for you, I can release you from my care. We can meet more informally, just as friends, if you wish to talk.”

 

“I suppose that’d be less stressful for you, too.” Ratchet said as he lightened his grip, pinching and tugging lightly on the newly-corrected strut, making certain that it was held well in place and unlikely to move improperly. “You don’t have to worry that you’re making the right move. No treading carefully, you can speak freely.”

 

While he didn’t know that he agreed about the comforts of speaking freely, Rung did feel he could stand to have a few friends that he didn’t have to treat. 

 

Ratchet was also fairly certain, given recent developments, that Rung had very few intentions of speaking freely himself. 

 

It was a fine plan, really. Ratchet could see the benefit. There was plenty he didn’t much care like discussing, but there was an appeal to knowing it’d never get written down in a file and stored away to inevitably pulled out if things went to slag. Rung was a trustworthy mech if Ratchet had ever known one, and while he had known a decent few, Rung was always remarkably genuine. Disturbingly genuine, if he had to be honest about his feelings on it. 

 

So when Rung was offering something like this, it was because he truly believed it would work. 

 

To a certain extent, as a doctor, Ratchet had to trust him. 

 

“So what exactly is your plan from there?” Ratchet stepped aside, sanitizing his hands as he prepped to move onto the next tool. A suffocating stench of solvent rushed the olfactory sensors of any mech who was still inside the medibay. Rung visibly relaxed. “You wouldn’t exactly be able to get much more done without either of us stopping our work.”

 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Rung managed through a soft, content fog. “I had been considering that, if like myself, you can spare forty-five minutes, we could take a short venture to Swerve’s. I know you prefer to spend your time there.” 

 

A grumble was the response Rung _expected_ from Ratchet, as it seemed that more often than not that was Ratchet’s answer to things, but this time around, Rung was greeted with an actual response.

 

“Ech, what kind of harm could it do.” 

 

“Granted, I’ll have to speak with Ultra Magnus and get his approval on the release forms since we’re both aware of how difficult it is to get much of an answer out of Rodimus…” Rung removed his glasses, using his proximity to the pillow to wipe them clean of an uncomfortable amount of condensation - something he’d prolonged doing out of the hope that Ratchet wouldn’t have noticed his change in body temperature. “But, he’s not unreasonable and will more than likely understand our intentions here.” 

 

Ratchet was inclined to agree; when Rung went to Ultra Magnus with problems or demands - as casual as they might be - he seemed to rarely deny him. Ultra Magnus put an unusual amount of faith in the little orange mech; it was likely due to the fact that Rung had gone millions of years without attracting a criminal record. 

 

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Rung mumbled, “For everything.”


	3. Consistent Error

“You want me to sign off on what?” Magnus looked over the datapad, casually scrolling over the document. Rung knew well enough to know that Magnus had likely read the form over numerous times, but wasn’t the sort to really mind having to confer over it.

“It’s a release, for Ratchet.” Rung smiled gently, sitting opposite of Magnus’s desk. “We’re both of the opinion that he might benefit from being released from my care. I know typically this sort of thing doesn’t require approval, but since we’re both medical professionals and we’re in a rather finite space, I felt it important that you were informed.”

“Unnecessary but appreciated, Rung.” The ex-Enforcer took a stylus from his collection, quickly signing off and handing it back to him. “I wouldn’t typically do this without consulting Rodimus, but he’s nearly impossible to reach and I trust your good judgement.”

Rung beamed, taking the form and standing with a polite wave. “I know Rodimus has a tendency to give you trouble. Feel free to discuss him with me during your next appointment, if you feel the need. Unfortunately I’m nearly at the end of my break and really must be going. I don’t mean to be rude, though. Thank you for your approval, Magnus. Ratchet and I both appreciate it.”

Magnus, as he usually did, stood from his desk and made a point of escorting Rung to the door, a firm pat on his shoulder as the door opened. 

“Thank you for coming in, Rung. It’s good to see you’re working together and getting things done on this ship.” Magnus nearly smiled, as much as he ever did, letting the door slide shut once Rung was exactly five steps away from the door. 

Talking with Magnus was always a painless process but always left Rung feeling exhausted. Ultra Magnus had a very firm and commanding presence, and while he was always very respectful of Rung, he appeared to be a mech who still had trouble accepting that mental health was vital to the wellbeing of _The Lost Light_ ’s crew. Rung had gone most of his life having people doubt the credibility of psychiatric treatment but it never became less difficult to have it challenged. He gripped the holopad in his servos, thankful that it had gone smoothly though. 

Rung had been lucky enough to catch Magnus with a reasonable amount of energy and it certainly made things easier. Dealing with Magnus any time after he’s had to deal with Rodimus wasn’t much unlike trying to get Ratchet to talk to him for a session. Thankfully, the holopad in his hands assured that he wouldn’t have to worry about that. Now, Ratchet might be more willing to confide in him. Who knew? - They could even find themselves becoming close friends! It brought a soft heat to Rung’s spark just to think about it. It felt like it had been centuries since he’d known a mech he could call friend without having to preface that they were also his patient. 

To compare patients and friends had never been very fair anyway, so far as the doctor was concerned. He did his best to listen and help, as was his job, but it was rare that they understood him nearly as well. They weren’t inherently to blame, seeing as most of them thought of him only as their psychiatrist and not entirely as a friend. When he kept his life to himself and put serving his clients first, it made it unreasonable to expect them to know him. It wasn’t fair. It was just the way things were. 

Though, things appeared to be going somewhat well with Ratchet. Most of his struts had been realigned and Rung couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. The ache had almost completely subsided and there was nearly no pain when he had to sit or stand. It was a great relief and in truth he’d been attempting to work out a way to properly thank Ratchet; it might have been his job, but for someone to be passionate and consistent and meticulous came with concern for their work and patients. It deserved thanks, Rung had decided. 

Letting himself into the medibay, he took his seat as he typically did, prepared to wait until Ratchet gave him the clear to move to his usual table. 

He had been giving a reasonable amount of thought to what he wanted to do to show his thanks; he’d considered a gift but couldn’t think of much that a mech like Ratchet would want. He tried to think of gestures but when he hardly left the medibay it would be difficult to set up anything. He fiddled his servos over the holopad, excited that he could at least give his medic the good news that they could make an effort to move forward with some form of communications. 

Ratchet seemed to be keeping himself moderately busy with cleaning up one of the other observation areas, that in Rung’s expert opinion, had recently been housing Whirl. He tightened his fingers around the holopad, grappling with the decision of if he should offer to help clean up. On the one hand, Rung had no real experience in this particular brand of medical treatment, and he was unlikely to meet Ratchet’s remarkably high - but reasonable - standards of sterile. On the other, Ratchet might have been likely to appreciate the gesture. Rung lamented that he didn’t know Ratchet well enough to know what the proper decision was. 

Hopefully, the signed release would have helped remedy that. 

Once he was satisfied, Ratchet sanitized his hands, gesturing for Rung to follow him as he wiped them, throwing the cloth into a bin. 

“How’re we feeling today?” Ratchet asked, back to the psychiatrist as he started arranging tools. “Your posture looks better.”

“Feels better.” Rung said, finding that he didn’t need to slouch to feel comfortable as he sat with no support against his back. “I wish other people could see what you’ve done with me, it’s nothing short of phenomenal.” 

Typically, Ratchet wasn’t a fan of compliments. Mechs handed out flattery as though they’d walk home with extra medication or would get better bedside treatment. Ratchet knew he could get away with anything with most mechs, most would rather keep their mouths shut than risk upsetting him, but Rung was always overly complimentary. It would upset him, but Rung always seemed to mean it. Rung genuinely seemed to like to work with him. And putting aside his obvious _interest_ in medical treatment, it was nice to know Rung appreciated the work - even if it was supposed to be Ratchet’s job. 

“No issues?” 

“None that I’ve noticed.” Rung held out his arm, used to the routine of Ratchet checking his diagnostics. “And I’ve got more good news! Ultra Magnus signed off on your release forms, so you’re clear of my care until you elect to return to it, assuming you’d be interested in returning to my care.”

Ratchet took a moment to consider the statement, connecting and reviewing Rung’s status. Everything looked normal - better than normal, if truth be told. Rung had been steadily improving with every session. It was rare that Ratchet worked with one patient so consistently, mechs had come and gone in Dead End and the “high class” clientele didn’t typically require so much treatment. To get to witness Rung’s recovery first hand was certainly a unique experience. 

“We’ll have to see how things go,” Ratchet said perhaps a bit too firmly. He wasn’t looking to abandon Rung, but in truth he was eager to abandon the commitments of seeing a psychiatrist. He’d gone the whole war without having to talk to someone, he’d worked in Dead End not needing to see someone - nothing had changed recently that would have justified the change of behavior. Not as far as he was concerned. “You’re looking good. More in the green and looks like you’re running at a higher efficiency.”

“I certainly feel like it.” Rung never took someone’s avoidance of care to heart. “I haven’t nearly as fatigued or feeling as tired. It’s nice to be able to focus.”

“You’d been having trouble focusing?”

Rung bit his glossa. 

It wasn’t exactly easy to admit to Ratchet that he hadn’t been sleeping. It wasn’t a deliberate choice to not recharge, there was just never _time_. Between patients and paperwork and seeing Ratchet, there wasn’t more than forty-five minutes a cycle to sleep anymore. He’d used to be able to justify two or three, but it’d gotten harder and harder, and since he hadn’t been feeling as tired and he _was_ getting to spend time with Ratchet, it seemed a fair trade all things considered.

“Oh, yes, my recharge cycle is a bit irregular.”

“Well that can sure do it.” Ratchet closed Rung’s diagnostics panel, any flicker of a smile having promptly left upon discovering that apparently Rung was still keeping secrets. “How irregular?”

“...They’re more inconsistent than irregular. I recharge for the same length of time most days, but sometimes earlier or later than I intend. I imagine you have similar problems, working the hours you do.”

“Yeah,” Ratchet mumbled, taking note that he wasn’t a shining example of how to cope with a short recharge. “But somehow I imagine you’re having a harder time with that than I am, Rung.”

“Why would that be?”

Ratchet pointed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing past the curtain. “Because I’ve got First Aid out there working his aft off when I’m busy or resting. So how much rest are you actually getting? What are your symptoms.”

“You’re not going to like the answer, Ratchet.”

“I already hate that we have to have this conversation, Rung. Try me.”

“I…” Rung couldn’t argue. He had no leverage when he was exclusively Ratchet’s patient and Ratchet had no reason to answer to Rung with that form signed. He sighed, twiddling his thumbs and avoiding optic-contact. “Some blurred vision, primarily peripherals. Light-headedness, fatigue, the usual. A bit of lethargy, but I don’t tend to notice it unless I’m working within a certain circle of my patients.”

“The problem children.”

“I wouldn’t call them that, Ratchet. Some people just need more help. The longer you go without it, the harder it is to start, and everyone requires different treatment. What works for one mech might not work with another. And, yes, I’ll grant that some of them take more energy, but they aren’t _problems_.”

Most of Ratchet’s patients were problems. He rolled his shoulders, gesturing with his servo for Rung to continue.

“And, I…. My recharge is about… well, if I’m being generous, two hours.”

Rung could have sworn he saw a sharp flare of light from Ratchet’s optics. “ _What? _”__

__“I-I break it into cycles. Forty-five minutes at a time. The length of a session. Generally, I get two a day, three if someone cancels. It used to be three a day but-”_ _

__“You gave up _recharge_ to come here?” _ _

__Rung bit his lip, feeling his shoulders hunch slightly. It certainly wasn’t a proud moment._ _

__When he looked up, Ratchet held his helm in one hand, the other crossed across his chassis with the other resting in the crook of his elbow. He looked _furious_. His faceplates were a deep, blistering red. Rung had seen mechs angry before, it came with the territory, but Ratchet looked as though it took every ounce of restraint not to destroy the medibay._ _

__“There’s not enough hours in the day.” Rung admitted, sounding more tired and saddened than he intended. “I can’t help my patients when I’m sleeping, I just can’t find any time to rest when they need me.”_ _

__Ratchet’s expression softened._ _

__Medics understood medics._ _

__He was still red in the face, less than pleased despite Rung’s honesty. It was difficult to reprimand Rung for cutting corners; Ratchet wasn’t any better. First Aid didn’t need to know, Magnus didn’t need to know, Rung didn’t need to know - if Ratchet was a bolder mech, he might have offered Rung a solution similar to his own. However, Ratchet also knew that what he had was a remarkably unreasonable solution._ _

__“I know.” Ratchet mumbled empathetically. He was still angry, Rung could hear it, he could feel it in the field that had quickly erupted into their small, curtained examination room. Ratchet exvented, the space quickly growing warmer. “I know.”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Rung offered gently._ _

__“I can’t blame you, Rung. There’s a lot of mechs on this ship. There’s a lot of work to be done and not a lot of us who can do it. But you’re not going to get any work done if you can’t stand on your own two pedes.”_ _

__Rung nodded in acknowledgment._ _

__“So no treatment today. None tomorrow. Not for you, and not for anyone else. I’ll go to Magnus myself if you’re not going to listen to me. But you’re taking a few days off. I don’t care what you do with your time but you’re not coming here, and you’re not seeing clients. I want you to recharge. _Actually_ recharge. Not falling asleep with a datapad in your hand and waking up because someone’s let themself in for an appointment.”_ _

__“You speak from experience?”_ _

__“First Aid wasn’t always here.” Ratchet reminded the small orange mech. “I know you want to help people. You wouldn’t be doing what you do if you _didn’t_. But you’ve got to rest, Rung. All you’re doing is putting more stress on your body. It won’t be able to handle it for another six million years, and I’m not always going to be around to make the repairs._ _

__“So you’re taking a day off.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry more doesn't happen in these chapters


End file.
